


Drifting Stars

by royaltyjunk



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I suppose, Panic Attacks, Roleswap, background mentions of aki/haru, i'm deceased i love them so much, this was a ride and a half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: [Role swap!AU] “Come, Goemon!” Blood dripped from her fingers like petals from a wilting flower. She ripped the mask off her face.





	Drifting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Ideas: Did a role swap AU because I would’ve done one eventually and this one just felt right  
> I wrote this one as just a role swap, so their backstories and roles in the PTs are switched, but not their personalities (hobbies were tweaked as needed but attitudes toward said hobbies mostly remain the same)

Kitagawa Futaba never knew her parents. She had heard her father passed before she was born, and that her mother took care of her, but she died due to illness when Futaba was three.

So she grew up only knowing Madarame Ichiryusai, or Sensei. Sensei was the one who put the brush in her hand, was the one who paid for her tuition, was the one who put food on her plate and put clothes in her closet.

Her works were a small price to pay at first, when she did not care much for them. Madarame would take them from her, often saying, “Sensei is going to put this up in his room!” In later days, she would find out he had sold them, saying they were merely sketches to make up for the clear disparity in skill.

Still, Futaba did not mind. She simply accepted it and continued on with her routine.

It changed in her third year of middle school, when she opened a letter from Kosei High School and discovered she had received a full scholarship into their arts program. All she had done was submit a portrait of her friend Hifumi and a landscape painting of the Shibuya Scramble. She had not even thought about polishing them.

Futaba began to wonder, then. Was she destined for things greater than having her work stolen? How could Sensei do these sorts of things to her?

But she didn’t do anything. She couldn’t do anything. Sensei had the art world under his thumb, and whatever she said would be snuffed out immediately.

Soon after her acceptance, Sensei began to display her art at his exhibitions. People called them masterpieces. The brushwork was incredible, the values were amazing, the shadows were beyond comparison.

“As expected of Madarame-sensei!” The media praised as she looked on from the background. “What will be your next masterpiece?”

“Whenever I come out of my slump, I assure you, I shall put forth my artistic talents to the world!” Sensei smiled.

_You mean my artistic talents. You’re going to put forth my artistic talents to the world and say they’re yours._

But he was the man who raised her, the person she had seen as her father all her life. She couldn’t just… turn on him in the blink of an eye.

She started her first year in Kosei burdened with feelings of confusion and loss, simply not sure what she could do. The art classes in school seemed like the only place she could express herself truly.

An unexpected sight caught her eye—a pale blonde girl, making her way down to the subway station. She looked to be around Futaba’s age, but something about her was stunning. Eye-catching. Breathtaking. When the car came to a stop, Futaba threw open the door and dashed out of the car. Sensei started, but she ignored him and followed the girl.

The girl left the station near Shibuya and stood on the sidewalk, as if waiting for someone or something to snap her out of her reverie. Futaba started forward, but found her path blocked by two boys who looked to be around the other girl’s age. One of them—the blonde—blinked.

“You… You sure this is the one? Or are you just imagining things?”

“I’m sure!” The blue-eyed girl insisted. A familiar black car pulled up by the sidewalk next to them, and Futaba swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I was wondering why you’d suddenly gotten out of the car. Well, I can’t blame you.” Sensei chuckled, rolled up the window, and ordered the chauffeur to drive away. Futaba tried her best to ignore him and opened her eyes meekly.

“I… I’m sorry,” Futaba mumbled to the blonde girl. “I just… I’m an artist, and I thought… well… your proportions were almost perfect, and your looks were very eye-catching… if I followed you, I might be able to get a good composition…”

“Hey, that’s fine!” The other girl reassured. “Just… maybe ask the person next time?”

“Then, if you’re okay with it… could you model for me? Not now, just… I guess, send me a message.” Futaba tugged at the cover of her sketchbook before pulling out her phone. “Oh… I’m Kitagawa Futaba. I’m a pupil under… Madarame Ichiryusai.”

“Ah, that famous artist? That’s so cool! I’m Takamaki Ann. This is Sakamoto Ryuji,” she gestured to the other blonde to her right, “and this is Kurusu Akira.” She gestured to the black-haired boy on her left. Both of them nodded to Futaba.

“Then… I’ll be going now. Sorry to bother you.” Futaba bowed and left.

“She seems nice,” she heard someone comment. It was one of the boys.

“I’m sure she is. Come on. We’re gonna be late,” Takamaki murmured.

They showed up at the exhibition the next day without any warning.

“We just thought we’d come and see your teacher’s art,” Takamaki replied when Futaba asked why they were here. “I was wondering, is your art on display here too?”

Futaba swallowed down the obvious answer (yes) and shook her head. “No. It’s all Sensei’s art.”

Takamaki pointed out one of her paintings. Futaba bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her attempt to cover for Sensei didn’t get her very far. They began to press her more on the rumors surrounding Sensei, and she tried to deny them, as the perfect daughter would, but she gave in eventually. Even if she told them, though, she knew there was nothing they could do about it. There was nothing anyone could do about it.

She was destined to live this miserable life where everything was stolen from her.

_Have you finally come to your senses?_

Pain. Her head was filled with the lights of a thousand stars, and she fell before the true form of Sensei.

_How foolishly you have averted your eyes from the truth… A deplorable imitation indeed… Best you part from that aspect of yourself! Let us now forge a contract…_

She fell to her knees, her fingers gripping at the floor so tightly that wounds opened along the tips of her fingers.

_I am thou, thou art I…This world is filled with both beauty and vice… it is time you teach people which is which!_

“Come, Goemon!” Blood dripped from her fingers like petals from a wilting flower. She ripped the mask off her face.

“You’ll forever rue the day you dared defy me,” Sensei roared.

No, she would not. She stared at the true “Sayuri”, hanging on the wall of Café Leblanc, and then over at her friends (the words felt foreign to think about let alone say), partying up a storm.

Defying Madarame had been the greatest decision of her life.

~ / . / . / ~

“Wait. Isn’t this… hacking?” Futaba narrowed her eyes.

“Then, does that mean this guy’s a hacker!?”

What followed was the worst conversation in history to have ever happened, filled with Morgana’s meows of “I don’t get it” and Futaba bonding with Ryuji as they screamed about Medjed’s nonsensical statements until Makoto snapped at them to keep their voices down.

They met up the next day at their hideout, where Akira showed them the messages he had received.

“Wasn’t Sakura…” Makoto trailed off.

Ann gaped. “It’s Boss’s last name!”

“Does he have family?” Futaba questioned, tilting her head.

“Does he?” Morgana cast his feline eyes up towards Akira. Akira held his chin in his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face. Ryuji and Futaba sighed.

One thing led to another. They asked Inari for keywords. He called off the operation. They decided to visit Sojiro’s house to see if Sakura Yusuke really was Inari.

A yelp ricocheted through the old house as the electricity cut off. Futaba blocked out the argument between Ann and Ryuji (she’d grown used to it) and followed them out of the house, only stopping when Makoto started at the sound of a door creaking open. Chills ran down Futaba’s spine.

“I feel like someone’s here…” she murmured.

“Who is it…?” Makoto asked, fear seeping into her tone. “Who’s there…!? I can’t take this anymore! I’m leaving!” She tried to step forward, but she trembled and fell to her knees. “N-No… my legs won’t move…”

Futaba turned to look behind her. A lanky shadow stood behind Akira and Makoto. A flash of lightning lit up the house as their gazes met.

Makoto screamed, and the other person let out a shriek. Futaba saw a flash of blue before the sound of a door slamming shut reached her ears.

Moments later, Sojiro burst open the door to find an impassive Akira, staring down at a flustered Makoto as she clung to his leg and babbled apologies and prayers to her sister. Futaba made note of said pose. She wondered if she should draw something based off of it.

They found themselves back where they had started—in Café Leblanc, to be specific—as Sojiro explained the situation behind his son: that Yusuke’s mother had committed suicide, and that Yusuke viewed himself responsible for her death, so as a consequence had locked himself away in his room and become a shut-in.

Akira called a meeting in his room after Shujin ended session the next day, while Futaba was in the middle of sketching a new landscape painting. They came out of the meeting with a new target decided.

`I can’t leave this place.`

`I’m going to die here.`

Futaba’s breath caught at the dreadful words. She remembered saying those words to herself once as she painted in Madarame’s house.

`This house is my tomb.`

And like that, they were in the Metaverse, traveling at breakneck speeds through the desert in a cat-turned-car with _no air conditioning_.

“Why do I have to be back here!?” Futaba shrieked.

“How do you even have the energy to be that loud…” Ryuji mumbled.

“Ugh…” She sank into her seat. “Can I please sit up front?”

“Too late,” Makoto said over her shoulder, sighing. Ann pulled at her shirt, groaning. When Ryuji began to lean forward, Futaba pushed Akira down and punched Ryuji’s shoulder.

“Ow!” He yelped.

“Don’t look!” She huffed. “Geez, have some common decency.”

“Excuse me!? I have common decency!”

Futaba opened her mouth to say something, but a strange shape on the horizon caught her eye. She started, the argument with Ryuji forgotten.

“There…!” She pointed.

“Finally,” Makoto murmured, and slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. Morgana mewed loudly and zipped forward through the sand.

The Palace was, by all means, a normal Palace, aside from the fact that they weren’t dressed in their ”garments of rebellions”, as Ryuji called them. It made sense—Yusuke didn’t see them as a threat, after all. Yet, when they ascended the stairs, however, they were met with a strange sight.

Yusuke’s Shadow looked like a pharoah. An elaborate headdress sat atop his blue hair, and his eyes glimmered gold as he glared at them, dared them to take his treasure. The Palace trembled with belligerent voices.

And so their peaceful infiltration turned to the kind that they were more used to, involving Shadows, Personas, and traps of all kinds. Finally they found it, the Treasure that glimmered like a star within the tomb. A few days later, they arrived at Sojiro’s house, calling card in hand, and found themselves staring at a closet door waiting for Yusuke to open it.

It burst open suddenly, and he came tumbling out. The top of his head hit the top of the doorframe, and he yelped, falling to the ground.

“A-Are you okay?” Futaba asked, crouching beside him.

“I… I suppose so. It is a common occurrence.” He rubbed his head and adjusted his headphones so that they hung around his neck. “I…”

“Take this.” Ryuji shoved the calling card into Yusuke’s hands. “Read it.”

“...Here? Now?” Yusuke asked. Futaba could see panic rising in his eyes.

“When we leave,” Futaba said before anyone else could say anything else. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But how’re we gonna make sure he reads it?” Ryuji asked, frowning.

“He will, I’m sure. You gotta trust him. Let’s get out of here.” Without another word, Futaba skipped out of Yusuke’s room. Everyone followed after her.

“Hey, Futaba?” Ryuji asked while they waited outside. Futaba had her ear pressed against the shut door, listening carefully to Yusuke as he whispered the words on the calling card he had made out loud. Once she was satisfied, she nodded to Akira before looking over at Ryuji.

“What?”

“Why’re you so… I dunno, casual around him?”

“Who, Yusuke?”

“Yeah.”

“I dunno. I just… I see a lot of me in him, I guess.” Futaba shrugged. “Why’re you asking me?”

“Just—“

“If you two are done…” Akira interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah. Let’s go,” Futaba replied, nodding.

They raced through the tomb, clambering up stairs and hopping from platform to platform until they came to the place housing the Treasure, so close to changing his heart—

And then the ceiling was torn apart and they were fighting a monster Yusuke’s cognition had created, a monster with wings and paws and a tail.

Yusuke appeared suddenly. He must have followed them, her terrified brain realized. The cognitive version of Wakaba attempted to lash out at her son, but Yusuke shook his head.

“I will not let those distorted lies deceive me anymore… And I will not be led astray by someone else’s voice either… I shall trust my own eyes and my own heart to distinguish what is true and what is false.” He glared at the monster. “You… You are not my mother! You are simply a false creation, stemming from the hearts of rotten adults! I shall… I shall never… I shall never forgive them!”

Light. Yusuke’s Shadow appeared for a split second before shooting up into the sky. Futaba could barely comprehend what she was seeing until she realized that Yusuke was gone, taken into something that was… a Persona?

“Yusuke!?” Futaba cried out instinctively.

“I am alright,” he responded from his place inside the alienesque Persona. “But I ask for your cooperation. That monster… it must leave.”

To think the lanky boy curled up in a fetal position on his bed was capable of summoning a giant Persona, hacking a ballista into his own Palace, and taking down Medjed… the thought made Futaba smile.

“You know… staring and smiling at a boy while he’s sleeping might give some people the wrong idea,” Ryuji whispered in her ear. She elbowed him, and he yelped. “Mercy, mercy!”

Yusuke was attractive, she’d give him that. His hair looked like something straight out of an anime and she didn’t quite mind his height, but his eyes… she’d seen them, when he’d awakened his Persona. They’d glimmered like stars, bright and full of purpose. Already, an idea for a painting was forming in her mind.

Still, his handsomeness didn’t stop her from wanting to strangle him when he revealed himself as the true Medjed and then refused to open up to any of them.

~ / . / . / ~

Futaba’s eyes drifted from Yusuke to the figurines on his shelf as Makoto continued to speak.

“Are you sure? I mean, you haven’t been outside in two years… we don’t want to scare you.”

“I am sure.” Yusuke nodded. “If I can survive the train ride during rush hour to Leblanc, I am sure I can survive a restaurant.”

“Still—”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Futaba answered as she began to adjust his figurines. “If Inari insists he can do it, he can.”

“Indeed,” Yusuke agreed, clearly not hearing the sarcasm in her voice. “Wait—What are you doing!?”

“I’m adjusting these figurines to be aesthetically pleasing.”

“That is not aesthetically pleasing! That is—”

“Hey, don’t talk back to the artist! I know what I’m doing!”

“Lay another finger on them and I will cut you down where you stand!”

“I’m the one with the toy sword!” Still, she removed her hands and cast her gaze over Yusuke’s room. “What do you even do in here?” Futaba frowned.

Yusuke didn’t even turn to look at her, continuing to type away at his computer. “Why, I code.”

“All day?”

“Not all day! Of course I do other things.”

“Like what?”

“Hey now, Futaba. We didn’t come here to bother Yusuke,” Makoto chimed in.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Futaba replied. To her surprise, Yusuke let out a good-natured chuckle.

“I assure you, you are not being a bother.” He spun around to face them, a gentle smile on his lips. “Now, shall we get going?”

“Once you put on a better shirt and a better pair of pants, yeah,” Futaba quipped before turning her attention to her phone.

“She’s way too blunt,” Morgana mewed quietly.

“I can hear you,” Futaba said, and Morgana shrieked. Rustling indicated to her that he had leapt out of Akira's bag.

“As much as I enjoy your presence, Morgana, I need to get dressed,” Yusuke stated.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Makoto jumped in, and Futaba raised her eyes to see Morgana being taken out of Yusuke’s lap by Makoto.

“Hey, I can walk!” Morgana complained.

“Not now. Come on,” Makoto said. Morgana visually deflated as Makoto carried him out of the room. Akira and Futaba followed them.

As soon as they left the room, Morgan leapt out of Makoto’s arms and sat down beside Akira. Futaba squatted down beside him.

“Yusuke seems like he’ll be okay, but I’m worried about him,” he murmured. “We better keep an eye on him.” Futaba ran her hand over his head.

“Yeah,” Futaba agreed, and Morgana shrieked.

“No! Don’t pet me! I am not some house cat that—”

“To everyone else you are. So shush it and act along.” Futaba picked him up and slung him over her shoulder. He shrieked again.

“Oh? I was under the impression that Morgana did not like being pet or carried,” Yusuke commented as he opened the door.

“Ah, Yusuke. Are you ready to go?” Makoto questioned. Futaba stood and caught Yusuke’s eye, nodding.

“...Yes,” Yusuke answered.

It was a pretty demanding task, to tell the truth: ride the train, have a meal, and then survive the evening rush on their way back, all while acting like normal high school students enjoying their summer break. Yusuke kept his attention on his phone for most of the transport, but a look of panic began to climb into his eyes the longer they stood in line for ramen.

“Yusuke?” Futaba whispered gently. “Are you okay?”

“I…” He swallowed.

“Here. Hold my hand,” she said, offering him her hand. Her trembling fingers latched onto hers.

His hands were warm and clammy—unsurprising, considering the state he was in. He gripped her hand tight, and she squeezed back.

“You’re alright,” she murmured. “It’s just me. Ignore anyone else. I’m here.” Yusuke’s grip tightened, and Futaba ignored the feeling of her hands slowly losing circulation. “Yusuke, listen to me. Deep breath in, deep breath out.”

Yusuke followed her words, taking slow and tired breaths. Futaba nodded.

“Good, just like that. Take a deep breath… one, two, three… and deep breath out… good! Close your eyes, count to ten in your mind… you’re okay, Yusuke.”

His grip on her hand loosened slightly, and he managed a small, trembling smile.

“Keep holding my hand. I’ll hold on as long as you need me to,” Futaba reassured.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Yusuke? Futaba? Makoto called, a concerned look on her face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s good. Futaba responded. “Yusuke just panicked a little.”

“Are you okay?” Akira questioned worriedly. Yusuke nodded.

“I… I am alright.” When Akira turned back to Makoto, he leaned in to whisper, “How much longer?”

“Five minutes, give or take,” Futaba responded after craning her head to look at the line. Yusuke let out a shaky breath, and Futaba squeezed his hand. “Hey, you’re okay.” Only after they were seated did Yusuke let go of her hand, but she didn’t mind.

They fell into a pattern after that day. If Yusuke began to have a panic attack, Futaba would always hold his hand. It did mean she had to accompany Yusuke whenever he went out “adventuring” as she teasingly called it, but she didn’t mind It was a good opportunity to people-watch and gather ideas for new pieces anyways.

“You two seem like you get along well now,” Sojiro commented about a week later. Futaba scrunched up her face while Yusuke shrugged.

“I suppose,” he said, and took a sip of coffee. Futaba pulled out her wallet and passed Sojiro a few bills.

“I’ll take the sunflower blend,” Futaba said.

“Hey, this one’s on the house.” Before Futaba could object, Sojiro disappeared into the back of the kitchen. Yusuke chuckled, and Futaba slid into the seat beside him.

“Boss is too nice,” she commented.

“He cares about you,” Yusuke said. “All of you.”

“That’s a lot of kids to care about.”

Yusuke smiled and tugged his headphones down to rest around his neck. “I suppose so.”

Futaba stared at his profile. There was something strange about his hair—no, strange was too harsh of a word.

“Did you redye your hair?”

Sojiro re-emerged from the kitchen to find them arguing passionately about which shade of blue best suited Yusuke.

“Some things never change,” he chuckled. Futaba stuck out her tongue and Yusuke ran a hand through his hair, huffing.

~ / . / . / ~

The dinner party which followed after Shido’s defeat was rowdy, messy, and every word in between. After setting up multiple futons in the attic because there was no way they _wouldn’t_ have a sleepover party, Sojiro left the café chuckling at the hoots and hollers echoing through the old building.

Haru and Akira were brewing coffee, while Yusuke had set up one of his gaming consoles downstairs. Ryuji and Ann were bickering as they usually did while Makoto looked on with a look of exasperation on her face. It took Futaba a moment to place what was wrong with the scene—said person who owned the gaming console was absent. She left her sketchbook behind at the bar and made her way upstairs hesitantly.

Sure enough, there he was, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and managed a smile.

“Ah, Futaba.”

“Are you okay?” Futaba asked softly, sitting down beside him. She knew how emotionally devastating today had been on him.

He placed his phone down and didn’t respond for a moment before his shoulders began to shake with what Futaba could only assume were silent sobs. “My apologies… I…”

“Hey, you’re okay,” Futaba coaxed and Yusuke made to wipe at his eyes, but she caught his hands. “Let it out. I’m here.”

“Mom… she—finally… but Akechi…!”

She brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I know. Go on.”

“I… Mom has—has been avenged, but—but at what cost…? I… I wanted to avenge her, but I… I did not ask for him to sacrifice himself! Do… I… is it wrong?” Yusuke rambled, his breath catching in his throat.

Futaba threaded her fingers through his hair, pushing it back before pulling him into a tight hug. It was an uncomfortable position, Futaba’s legs laid over Yusuke’s lap and her back pressed up against the arm of the couch, but neither of them cared. Yusuke wrapped his arms around her, burying his tear-streaked face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder, and Futaba brought her hand up to stroke the back of his head soothingly.

“Was it wrong…? That I… that I wanted Akechi dead? Even after I knew him… after I came to understand him… I felt joy when his signal disappeared…”

“I don’t think that’s wrong,” Futaba responded gently, her fingers slowly carding through his hair. “You’re not wrong, Yusuke. However you feel is your own. No one’s gonna judge you for how you feel, and if they do, they’re pieces of shit.“

“...I see,” he murmured after a moment of silence. “I suppose you are right.”

“I’m always right,” Futaba smiled, and Yusuke lifted his head enough to glare at her playfully (although his swollen eyes did ruin the intended effect). When he laid his head back against her shoulder, she let out a shaky breath, barely realizing how close their faces had been until that moment and how hot his breath felt against her skin.

“Thank you,” Yusuke murmured after minutes of silence.

“Are you okay?” She asked, pushing him back to look him in the eyes.

“Yes, I am alright.”

“I believe you, but you look like hell, dude.”

“I am sure I do.” A concerned look sprung into his eyes. “Are you alright with us sitting like this?”

“Dude, we’ve been sitting like this for the last, like, ten minutes. Of course I’m good with it.”

“Still, I’m sorry. I… My judgment was clouded due to my overly emotional state.”

“It’s fine, dude.” Futaba shifted herself off his lap and combed through his hair one final time before dropping her arms to her side. “Today’s an emotional day for all of us.”

“...Thank you, Futaba.”

“Mhm.” She yawned. Yusuke chuckled.

“How long do you think they are going to celebrate?”

“Knowing them? I’d give ‘em all night.” Futaba rested her head on Yusuke’s shoulder as he picked up his phone. “I’m going to borrow you.”

She felt Yusuke move his arm, turning to see him fiddling with his phone before putting it on his lap and resting his cheek on her head. “Then I hope you do not mind if I borrow you as well.”

They stayed like that, Yusuke’s phone playing a gently soothing song about a shapeshifter beneath a mask. He fell asleep first, his snores soft and lips barely parted as his head , and she let her eyes flutter shut as her heart warmed with a feeling of unexplainable contentment.

Stars above, she was doomed.

~ / . / . / ~

She’d taken to drawing Yusuke more after that night, especially after Akira left. The remaining members of the Phantom Thieves, despite their disbandment, got together almost every day of their winter break.

There were only ten days left after they had sent Akira back, but Futaba had a sneaking suspicion that they were trying to make up for the hole that Akira's absence had left in all their hearts. Sojiro didn’t seem to mind their constant meet-ups at Leblanc, especially since it was usually only Yusuke, Futaba, and Haru.

In those early mornings, where Yusuke looked barely alive and was unwilling to share his coffee with her, she found she often drew the lanky boy’s form on her sketchbook and that she never tired of drawing him. Whether he was eating, staring at his phone, typing on his laptop, or lying with his head in his arms, she could draw him without feeling like she had tired her inspiration source.

She knew why. That fluttery feeling that would take over her heart whenever he smiled and the way anything clouding her mind cleared away whenever she could so much as see him served as enough of an answer.

“You like him,” Haru said one early morning when the café had opened and Yusuke was most definitely still sleeping. “Yusuke, I mean.”

Futaba almost choked on nothing. “Not here!” She whispered harshly. Haru giggled and pulled down a jar of coffee grounds from a nearby shelf.

“I’m sorry. It was just an observation.”

“I…” Futaba sighed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to win this argument. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I don’t think so. Well, actually… it could be because Yusuke is oblivious.”

“Most likely the latter.” Futaba flipped open her sketchbook and let her hand move in practiced movements. A few minutes later, a sketchy portrait of Haru was staring back at her.

“Ah, it’s me!” Haru noted as she poured hot water over the grounds she had poured into a coffee filter.

“Yeah. Do you want it after I finish it?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then I’ll add Akira,” Futaba said, and Haru smiled.

“Does that mean you should add yourself to every picture of Yusuke you’ve drawn?”

“Haru!”

School started up soon after that. Yusuke, to no one’s surprise, had been accepted into Shujin and he enrolled as a third-year alongside Ann and Ryuji.

“It is… a little strange. To serve as Akira’s stand-in, so to speak,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how well I will fare.”

“You’ll be fine!” Ann reassured. “I’ll be with you.”

“And me!” Ryuji piped up.

“Thank you, both of you.” Yusuke let out a sigh, the sound sending chills up Futaba’s spine. “I can only hope school goes well.”

Of course it would. Yusuke, as everyone knew, was a genius. He excelled in any academic field. He’d picked up English and improved his Japanese in his time prowling around the internet, and knew how to solve even the worst of arithmetic problems. Even after two years of absence, he sat at the top of his class on his first day.

“It’s not fair. He’s handsome and smart and talented and has really nice hands and really pretty hair and the worst social anxiety I’ve ever seen but it’s so endearing and I just—” Futaba cut herself off with a groan, covering her face with her hands.

Haru giggled. “I really think you should tell him how you feel.”

“I’m! Trying!” Futaba flailed her arms about. Haru ladled a large spoon of curry onto a plate of rice and placed it in front of her.

“I’m sure it’ll happen eventually. Don’t stress too much.” Haru clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh! Boss is coming back soon. We should probably change the topic.”

Futaba winced at the thought of Sojiro walking in on them mid-conversation about his adoptive son. “Yeah, we should. Anyways, how’s college? Oh, I’m sorry, I meant break.” She made a face at Haru, who smiled sympathetically.

Thankfully, only a few days after school started, the cherry blossoms began to bloom, and with them came the need to plan a Hanami picnic. Haru and Ann planned most of it, delegating Futaba with the task of bringing Yusuke along. She had a feeling she knew why.

“That is magnificent, Oracle,” she said, copying his tone of voice he used to praise her whenever she dodged an attack. She brought her hands up to frame him before putting them down quickly when she realized how crowded the train was.

“Truly? I feel rather out of my element…”

“Nah, I’d say it’s because you haven’t worn a yukata in forever.”

“I suppose that is another perspective.”

Ann met them at the station leading out to the park, excitement written all over her face.

“I can’t believe we got the best spot in the park!” Ann smiled. “It’s been half a year and I still haven’t gotten used to how powerful Haru is.”

“In the Metaverse or outside?” Futaba asked teasingly.

“Both!” Ann laughed before looking Futaba over. “Is that a new yukata?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I usually only wear this yukata for Hanami.” She gestured to the floral patterns woven all over the dark blue garment.

“Ah… it’s nice nice,” Ann complimented as she pushed through the throngs of people, walking towards the park. The cherry blossoms had already bloomed, and a gentle breeze brought petals drifting through the wind.

“Hold still,” Yusuke murmured suddenly. Futaba stiffened when she felt his hands on her head, and moved her gaze to the side to see him pulling a cherry blossom petal from her hair.

He met her gaze and, to her surprise, blushed slightly.

“I—my… my apologies,” he stammered.

“It’s okay,” she reassured, certain there was a similar flush on her own cheeks. “It saves me from having to do that later. Thanks.”

“Then… you are welcome,” Yusuke brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Yusuke! Futaba! What are you doing?” Ann called, waving them over. “Hurry! Everyone’s waiting!”

“C’mon, Inari!” Futaba brushed off the tension and slipped her hand into his. “This is your first Hanami picnic in a while, right? Don’t keep them waiting!”

“Ah… yes, you’re right.” Yusuke smiled, squeezed her hand, and took the lead.

The pale pinks of the cherry blossom trees contrasted well against the night sky, but she found the only thing she could draw was the look of pure joy on Yusuke’s face as he caught the falling petals in his hands.

~ / . / . / ~

“See you, then!” Haru smiled and left the café. Futaba flopped down onto the old mattress that had served as Akira’s bed and glanced around the attic littered with the remains of wrapping paper and curry-covered plates.

“Christmas’s exhausting when you have people to spend it with,” Futaba complained.

“I am inclined to agree,” Yusuke said, chuckling. He was busy fitting the new case Makoto had bought him around his laptop. Futaba tied the small charm of a kitsune Ann had bought her to her phone and sat up.

“Hey, Inari.”

“Is something the matter?” Yusuke lifted his gaze from his laptop and looked at her. Her heart fluttered, and she picked up her sketchbook.

“Can I sit by you?”

“Of course.”

Futaba swallowed back the memory of the last time they had sat on that couch together and the subsequent fluttery feeling welling in her heart as she walked over and sat beside him.

“Did you simply wish to sit beside me?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“I—No, I…” She let out a breath. Why was she so nervous? It was only Yusuke. _Only_ Yusuke. “I didn’t give you your entire gift.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and closed his laptop, setting it down beside him. Every hair on her arm bristled with anticipation.

“I… Here.” Futaba pushed her sketchbook into his hands. His eyes widened.

“Futaba, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Just open it.”

Hesitantly, Yusuke flipped open the cover. His lips parted in shock, and she felt her face flush.

“I… Ever since I met you, I thought… if I kept practicing, I might be able to portray you perfectly. I might be able to draw that glimmer in your eyes you get when you get excited, that tremble in your fingers when you get nervous, that look you get when you call Boss your dad. Yusuke… I know this might seem sudden, but I—”

Without warning, he cupped her cheek with his hand and kissed her. A feeling of glee fizzled through her like stardust dissipating, and her hands came up to grip his shirt.

“Thank you,” Yusuke breathed when he pulled away. “I love you. I mean, it. I love it. Your gift.”

She let out a breathless laugh, relief sweeping through her. “God, I don’t even know why I was so nervous. I’ll never be less smooth than you.”

Yusuke scoffed mockingly, and she giggled before sighing.

“I’m just glad you feel the same.”

“Mm. I… I love you. You are the light of my life, Futaba. I am more glad than you could fathom.”

Futaba felt a harsh blush growing on her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands. “Geez, Inari, way to spring that on me.”

“Ah, was that too cliché?”

“No, I… I love you too,” she responded.

“What did you say?”

“I love you too,” she said louder.

“I did not quite you hear you.”

“Okay, stop it you giant tease.”

Christmas, she decided, despite how it had gone last year, was amazing, especially considering the looks on everyone else’s faces when they met in Leblanc the next day and beheld the sight of Futaba triumphantly sitting on Yusuke’s lap.

Still, all good things must come to an end. The beginning of the school year was drawing near. Regardless of this, Futaba felt that nothing (except for the whole Yusuke thing) had changed.

“You’re free to stay here, you know,” Sojiro stated one day when Yusuke was out buying groceries and they were the only ones in the café. Futaba smiled sadly.

“I would, but that room… It reminds me too much of Akira. I can’t stay. Besides,” she continued, a light tone creeping into her voice, “I wouldn’t have time to work here in exchange for shelter. I’ll survive in Kosei.”

“Even though you complain every day about your roommate?” Sojiro raised an eyebrow. “You’re a good kid, Futaba. I’m not just about to let my son’s girlfriend suffer in a place she doesn’t want to be. Yusuke’s been bothering me about it recently, so I suppose there’s no choice here. He wants you to come live with us.”

Futaba almost dropped her paint-covered brush, scrambling to catch it and staring at Sojiro. “What!?”

“He’s transferring to Kosei and said it’d be convenient if you were with him.”

Futaba let out a shriek, surprise rendering her unable to speak for a moment. “Kosei!?”

“Did he not tell you anything?” Sojiro frowned before shaking his head. “That boy…”

“...Can I stay at your house until he gets back?” Futaba asked timidly.

“Clean up your paints and I’ll give you the keys,” Sojiro said, smiling. Before he even finished his sentence, a blur of orange was rushing between the booth and the bathroom.

Futaba, thankfully, did not have to occupy herself for too long at Sojiro’s house. Some five minutes after she had set up her easel and canvas, the door creaked open.

“Wha—oof!” The moment he appeared in the kitchen, she rushed him and tackled him to the ground. He ended up on the floor, groceries forgotten, with his back on the floor as Futaba propped herself up on his chest with her elbows, leaning over him.

“You didn’t tell me you were transferring.”

“Who—it was Sojiro, wasn’t it?” Yusuke deduced quickly.

“Mhm.” Futaba traced her thumb along his cheekbone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… well, I suppose I wished for it to be a surprise.” His hand came up hesitantly, slowly combing through her hair.

“It was a surprise,” she agreed, “but you still should’ve told me.”

“My apologies,” Yusuke chuckled. Futaba pressed a kiss against his nose, and his fingers threaded deeper into her hair as he lifted himself to brush his lips against her neck. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“You’re the worst,” she breathed.

“You still love me,” he murmured, his lips hot against her skin. He sat up, smiling down at a blushing Futaba who had ended up in his lap.

“You’re really pushing the definition of love right now, Inari.”

Yusuke laughed and stood, offering Futaba his hand.

And so Futaba moved into the Sakura household, despite magnified teasing and prodding from their friends. It was convenient, she insisted, nothing more.

(Of course that was a lie. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d exchanged kisses with Yusuke the first night she moved in or the number of times she’d carded her fingers through his hair as they wrapped themselves in his blankets or the number of times she’d let his hands wander in a sudden burst of bravado.)

Two days later, Sojiro woke them up by pulling the blankets off of them and, with what was the dictionary definition of a shit-eating grin on his face, asked, “You kids ready for school?”

“I feel much too tall for this,” Yusuke said, tugging at his uniform. His shirt was long but not long enough, and if he stretched his shirt would expose a vast strip of smooth skin that Futaba could easily say she was… uncomfortable with.

(She only knew this because Yusuke had made the mistake of stretching his arms above him at the train station earlier. Everyone around them had turned their gaze to him, much to her dismay.)

“It’s because you are,” she replied, sighing. “I’m going to miss seeing you whenever I want.”

“I can always come talk to you during breaks.”

Futaba let out a mock gasp of astonishment. “You!? Talk to me!? The old Inari never would’ve done that!”

“Hm, well, the old Inari was quite blind then.”

Futaba flushed red and she pressed her face into his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to say that sort of stuff. You’re embarrassing me.”

“My deepest apologies.” He kissed the top of her head, and then seemed to process that they were in public because his hand found hers and squeezed tight. Her head shot up.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she coaxed. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay.”

Yusuke took a shaky breath before nodding. His grip on her hand loosened, but Futaba laced her fingers in his. He smiled and closed his eyes when she leaned into his shoulder.

“Hey,” she murmured, and he turned to look at her. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. I love you too,” he responded, smiling. She tugged at his hand.

“Can I kiss your hand?” She asked.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Futaba placed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.

“You can do it,” she reassured. “You’ll be fine. You’ve already been to Shujin. Kosei isn’t that different. Plus, I’m here with you.”

“...Thank you,” he whispered. The train slowed to a stop, and Futaba stood, slinging her school bag over her shoulder. Yusuke followed her, his hand still in hers, and she led him off of the train.

Hifumi was waiting at her usual spot, her attention focused on people-watching. When Futaba approached her, she turned and smiled.

“It is good to see you again, Futaba-san. And you must be Sakura-san.”

“It’s good to see you too, Hifumi-senpai.” Futaba bowed slightly before tugging Yusuke’s hand. He started before bowing.

“You are Togo-san? Thank you for your assistance ahead of time.”

“It is no problem.” Hifumi smiled. “Shall we go?”

“Mm,” Futaba nodded. The three of them made their way out of the station and towards Kosei. Yusuke glanced around.

“What a large amount of students,” he commented as they entered the school.

“Yeah, it’s expected of a public school so close to a lot of neighborhoods. It’s definitely bigger than Shujin.”

“Clearly.”

Futaba paused at the flight of stairs leading up to the third floor. Hifumi and Yusuke stopped, although Yusuke frowned in confusion.

“Futaba-san’s class is on the second floor,” she supplied. Yusuke blinked and then nodded.

“I see. Then… I shall see you later.” He squeezed her hand, hesitantly bringing it up and pressing a kiss on the back of her hand before letting go. The bell rang, and he followed Hifumi up the stairs. Futaba stood there, a dumb grin on her face and stars in her mind.

By the time homeroom ended, she had another drawing of Yusuke in her sketchbook. He had stars in his eyes and petals in his hair.


End file.
